Saturday, November 3, 2012

Thank you for looking through my
images, and following the link to this page.

Snowy Trees, Canyonlands - Utah

My new website, hosted by SmugMug,
is a full-featured gallery sharing site which gives you the ability to purchase
images at various sizes - framed or unframed, cropped or uncropped, matt or
glossy, on fine art paper, metal or canvas. Images are printed and shipped from Bay Photo in Santa Cruz, a professional
photography service with 35 years of experience.

If you decide to purchase through
the SmugMug site, you will notice that most of my images are not created in the
traditional 5x7, 8x10, 11x14, etc. size, but are ‘full frame’ images direct
from the camera. In other words, you get exactly what I saw through the camera,
without cropping. I believe the resulting images are more pleasing to the eye,
being a bit wider and having more of a true ‘landscape’ feel. SmugMug offers these
modern paper dimensions so you can print full-frame images, and you will notice
them when you click the BUY button; sizes such as 8x12, 12x18, and 16x24 will
be available, and frames for these sizes are generally available from places
such as Aaron Brothers, here in Boise.

The images you order from the SmugMug
website will not be signed or numbered, but will have a small digital signature
in the corner of the print. If you wish to purchase a signed and numbered
image, then you will need to contact me by email. The images I print are 24x15
at the largest (on Moab Entrada, 100% acid-free archival paper), and up to 40x25
on archival canvas (which are simply stunning). I can ship the images rolled,
or framed / stretched. These are limited editions, commonly in a run of 75.

I am excited about the new display
properties of the SmugMug site, and in the next few months I hope to add more
text content such as captions and locations of images.

Monday, October 22, 2012

The time for a new look has begun. My old web site has
become smaller and smaller as most computer monitors have become larger and
larger. Tablets and iPad’s and smart phones need their own platform and size
requirements. The upload speed, the color, and the purchase/shopping cart/PayPal
features – almost everything needs to be retooled.

This blog site is just a start; and over the next few months
I will work toward the future of my new site – in my ample spare time. Without
any expeditions on the near horizon, and with ski season still a few months
off, it seems the perfect time to get rolling. There will be, however, a
substantial increase in our weekly java bean purchases.

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Well, its time for an adventure to a new place where bathrooms are scary and water is suspect – Indonesia.

While we will be spending some time on land with the 150lb dragons of Komodo, will also be capturing underwater images of the diverse, pristine, and abundant coral reefs and animal life that surround the tiny islands of Rinca, Padar, Lawalaut, and Tala. Manta rays are plentiful in these waters, as are most of the fish from “Finding Nemo”. My camera gear consumes even more space on a trip like this, as I have to pack the regular “dry” camera equipment as well and the “wet” stuff.

Although these volcanic islands are nearly astride the equator, the temperatures are quite moderate – 82 degrees for a high, nearly year-round. The 17,000 islands that make up the Indonesian archipelago are home to the 1.5 million year old fossils and tools of “Java Man”; and as of new evidence in 2011, Indonesia is also home to early Homo sapiens, who possessed the maritime skills needed to make the ocean journey to Australia for vacations and barbie’s.

The Indonesian island chain contains 150 active volcanoes, including the remains of Krakatoa, which in 1883 exploded – killing over 36,000 people and creating the loudest sound ever heard in modern history. The most recent tectonic activity in 2004 produced the infamous “Boxing Day” tsunami that killed 167,000 people in 14 countries. And, if I’m not mistaken, the last cannibal feast was in the mid 1960’s, where a missionary was served with kale and rice.

So, it seems Indonesia is the perfect place for a working vacation of photography, hiking, and diving; all under the doomful shadows of nervous volcanoes, giant ancient lizards, reef sharks, earth quakes, malaria, biting monkey, cannibalism, sun burn, and dysentery.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

I was lying on my back on a narrow
stone ledge. A bandana was draped over my face, my legs in a Trendelenburg
position, and my wife was trying to drown me by pouring ice water onto my face.
It was at about this point that I was contemplating the next logical step in
breaking a run of supraventricular tachycardia (SVT). I had tried the valsalva
maneuver over and over, nearly to the point of popping out an eye like an
excited Chihuahua. I also struggled with the carotid massage, locating the
carotid bulb and rubbing my neck to conjure a genie. I even attempted to do
both at the same time, bearing down with the image of birthing twins and burying
two fingers into my neck like I was looking for change between the cushions of
my sofa. No good.

My personal history of palpitations
and tachycardia started years ago, in 1991, during a dehydrated mountain bike
ride up the face of a legendary local Boise hill, where my heart rate hit 204.
At the bottom of the downhill side my heart rate monitor was still showing a
rate of 160. A few simple deep coughs broke the cycle and I was on my way - and
my SVT has followed me intermittently for the rest of my years.

In the mid 1990’s, near the top of
the Grand Teton, I again felt the pressure of a runaway heart. “Not good,” I
thought, climbing at a slower pace. I tried the usual valsalva moves, anything
that would increase my intrathoracic pressure and trigger my vagus nerve.
However, all that accomplished was to redirect my concentration from climbing
to my tachycardia. I needed to pay attention to climbing. To my benefit, my
climbing partner that day was Mark, a cardiologist. I slowed, then stopped, and
waited for him to climb up to me.I am
sure he was wondering why it appeared as if I was trying to force a spirited
bowel movement, but within seconds he realized my plight, palpated my
indiscernible pulse, and said, “Do you know where we are?”

Like a well-rehearsed magic trick, a
few seconds of Marks experienced kneading to my lateral neck instantly broke
the reentry cycle and I was symptom-free. In fact, I felt so good that we climbed
on to the summit. I was grateful, and also quite pleased that my vessels didn’t
yet have enough plaque in them to replace the SVT with a cerebral vascular
accident.

Incidents involving your heart seem
to be quite clear in your memory, like they were inscribed with a soldering
iron. So, after mining the history of my rare episodes of SVT, the perpetrator
of my rapid rate seemed to be a cruel combination of caffeine and dehydration.

Since that day I have monitored my
hydration status closely during any outdoor adventure, as well as my coffee
intake. I contemplated a visit with an electrophysiologist for a possible
ablation, but decided instead to avoid the ‘burn’ and the rate-limiting
medications that were suggested by various well-intentioned associates. Instead
I decided to live normally, although more thoughtfully, and have only had a few
repeat instances of SVT, all of which were vanquished without any more than a
protracted valsalva - until Nepal.

We had just passed the village of Pangboche
when palpitations and a rapid heartrate beat me into submission. Even though I
was drinking three liters of water a day, I had discovered Starbucks Singles,
which I had shamefully abused. I attempted the usual - cough, valsalva, cough,
and valsalva again - but tachycardic I remained. I hiked further and then threw
in the carotid massage for luck. Nothing. My pace was slowing. “I wonder if I
could just hike in short bursts until we got to the Pheriche clinic? Surely
they have some Adenosine there,” I thought.

It’s a strange feeling, a runaway heart; like
you are moving against an invisible force, as if someone has thrown the weight
of ten quilts over your legs and arms. Your head becomes disturbingly light;
enjoyment of the world melts away and clouds of negative thoughts replace
reason.

Once I was stopped and supine (I
would like to add here that to continue any stressful activity involving a strained
electrical system will undermine any conversion tactics) my trekking friend,
and ER physician, proposed the solution -ice water immersion. I had never tried
the diving reflex myself, but at this point it was my only option.

I hoped the embarrassing display of
my impromptu waterboarding wouldn’t raise the attention of every medical person
on the trail, creating a Gore-Tex funded rugby scrum, but thankfully no one
seemed to mind the spectacle. Within seconds of the icewater plunge, my pulse
was radially palpable at a rate of 65 bpm, and my symptoms of fatigue and
lightheadedness instantly resolved. So immediate was my relief that I was able
to sit up, stand, and hit the trail within thirty seconds of conversion. I
swore off caffeine for the remainder of the trek and began drinking water
nearly to the point of obsession – to ensure a reoccurrence was less likely.

I found out later, the Pheriche
clinic does not carry Adenosine, has no defibrillator, and relies entirely on metoprolol
for tachycardias. The only answer might have been a rescue helicopter back to
Kathmandu. My solution for future adventures will have to be more than just
traveling with a cardiologist. It will involve the potentially lethal combination of dehydration
and caffeine.

Until then, my heart remains a
jack-in-the-box, and I continue to turn the tiny handle, waiting for the thrilling
moment when I am faced with another manifestation of the SVT jester.

About Me

I travel as much as I can afford, and afford much less than I desire. The rewards, however, are priceless.Watching sunlight creep across a red desert valley, glitter through an emerald forest, or transform a desolate expanse of ice and snow into a wrinkled lavender blanket is much more than these photographs can provide. They are simply tiny slices of time, a memory; a single moment of the landscape that will never be the same again.